Leaving unarmed
by skye-fate
Summary: Maya loves enveloping herself into mountains of books and games. When her friend recommended a spin-off from Assassins's Creed that had an unkown main character, she jumped at it. The boys from her town didn't faze her, but when she opened that book, she somehow met people she had always wanted to meet. Until she really met them...
1. Chapter 1 : Tickle wars

Swiftly and silently, I moved towards the door post on my left. Target confirmed. Now, all I have to do is just creep up very carefully... there's a creaking floorboard over by his desk, don't forget... and strike!

I jumped forward and lunged at the back of my little brother, but I was too slow. He turned around - like the ninja he most probably is - and stood up, crashing forward into my stomach. We both went clattering to the floor and laughed like the little kids we were while trying to get each other to succumb to tickle torture. I must admit, I really have a good relationship with my eleven-year old brother. I know that for a lot of people, their little brothers or sisters make their lives utterly miserable, or vice versa. But then again, we were a special kind of idiots.

"Maya, Tim, minimize those bloody soundwaves! I'm trying to watch a show here!", our mom exclaimed irritably from the floor below. That's wat she did. Watch shows. It was her religion, you could say. And they were the cheesiest kind of crap there was. You know. Man saves woman, woman swoons, they get together and make babies. Hooray!

Nah. Still not my thing. And I'm even trying to make it sound _good._

We hushed each other and giggled. This was a scenario we saw everyday.  
"Say...mayaaa?", he pleaded. Oh God. No. Here it comes. No wonder he wasn't all that aggressive in his counter attacks today.

I sighed. "Yeeeees?"

"Can I borrow your copy of that Assassin's Creed book you're reading? It's about history, right?", he looked up at me with shining eyes. Damn. But no.

"I'm sorry Tim, but that copy I have is a ... special copy."

"How is it special?"

"Well... it's a bit more spicy." I wasn't about to explain to him the details of what spicy really meant.

"Did you spill pepper in it then?" He looked at me, quizzically.

"Oh hun... um...-" I tried, but I had been saved from a sudden mental mind roasting when my older sister busted into the room, tears streaming down her cheeks, but with an odd, desperate look in her eyes. I couldn't quite pin it down.

"MAYA."

"...present."

"Does it really end that way?", she breathed in shallow breaths. "Because it can't!" A sniff followed by "I know you're hiding a sequel somewhere!" One last intake of breath.

"I AM GOING TO FIND IT EVEN IF IT KILLS ME."

Next she turned on her heels, banged the door shut, with an annoyed complaint from our mother down below, and she was gone.

"This is about that book too, right." Tim said. It didn't even sound like a question, more like a fact.

"Definitely."

"I think I don't want to read it anymore."

"And why is that?"

"Because Jules only cries when it's some sort of romance book."

"...true."

I held back a a relieved sigh. In reality, it wasn't much of a romance book, but a spin-off that included an assassin that went by the name of Ethan Steele.


	2. Chapter 2 : Revenge is in the words

As you might've guessed, I'm much more of a family type than I am a friend type. I never really had much use of them, because I knew they were going to leave sooner or later. That's the thing with family. Supposedly, they never leave, do they?

I sat up in my bed, not caring about the ridiculous bedhead I always had. There was no stopping it, anyway. If I had to go by what my mom used to tell me, I had light brown hair when I was young, but it somehow got so dark it almost looks jet black now. Because of various reasons, I never kept it long, much like my sister. Mine was cut into a bob, while my sister preferred chopping it all off with the vigour of a viking.

"To the lazy bum still in her bed at 11 AM, there's spaghetti!", my sister shouted through what seemed like a megaphone down below.

"To the crazy person _shouting in a megaphone, _I'll be down when I get down!" I replied, irritated out of my wits. No one in the right mind tried to wake me up from an early morning nap.

I pushed my blankets to the side, and mentally battled wheter I should actually step out of my bed like a normal person or not try at all. I went with the second choice.  
Rolling myself out of my little blanket burrito, I ended up on the blanket-covered floor with a soft thud. I always slept with four blankets and my room had two rugs to make my fall a bit softer. I really liked it that way, even though it seemed like I had a fetish for soft things.

Now only to get to the door with the least effort possible.

I faced the door, got up on all fours and crawled my way to it. Wearing black short shorts and a loose black tee, I didn't think there was even a point in changing yet. In fact, today was saturday. I shouldn't change my clothes at all.

I liked spaghetti, I thought. But then my eyes fell on the book lying open on the floor, face down. I had been reading it last night, on my desk, did I actually knock it off?

Crawling towards the object in front of me, not caring anymore about the spaghetti, I watched it intently. It was like it had been torn... Were did the next few pages go?  
I picked it up, sitting down on my butt and examining the thing. The passage I had read the night before was etched into my memory as if it was hacked out in stone.

_He saw in Connor's eyes what he always seemed to see: A desperation, a certainty. Revenge. The man had always been very intent on having his revenge. But as an assassin, did he know that there was more to it than just that?_  
_Running his hand through his short dirty blonde hair, he battled with himself. He missed his family,whom had been torn from him at the docks of Boston. The templars had found out about his grandfather and his older brother, but how, he didn't know. The last words his brother said to him had been short, but true._

_"Ethan. Don't forget to live." He had said. The look on his face was like that of a soldier about to be excecuted, dignified and unable to be broken. _

_And that's exactly what he planned on doing. Live. For he couldn't live on revenge. He could only do what the creed had taught him to do._

I turned it in my hands and opened the passage it had fallen open on. Page 88 on the left. But there were torn pages in the middle. It skipped immediatly to page 93. Strange.  
But still, it probably had been her sister. Or her brother. Damnit.

Seething with anger, she stood up and dropped the book to the floor, ready to shout things to the closed door of her brothers room that shouldn't even be in the dictionary.

There was just one problem.

She couldn't drop the book.


	3. Chapter 3 : Road to nowhere

**A/N : Reviews are more than welcome! I love hearing how I can make my writing better than it is at right now. English is not my main language - so please heep that in mind! If you have any ideas for the story as well - Please share, I go by the 'I make it up as I go' policy. I do have some scenes planned though, If you were worrying.**

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I sighed inwardly as I put down my plate, now as empty as it could ever get. I was just about to put the cheese back into the fridge when I mentally told myself I really should check on Maya. She is known to be a late sleeper and not very enthusiastic about actually living a life, but that didn't mean she could stay in bed until two in the afternoon. It was a weekend, not a vacation. There ought to be a minor difference.  
I climbed the stairs, expecting to be yelled at for waking her again, but stopped dead in my tracks. The place seemed ransacked, even from the hallway. Too shocked to think straight, I just stood there. I gasped, an expression of horror stuck on my face. What whas I to do? What had happened? Gingerly, I tried to get closer without stepping into any shards of wood. Her door had been blown clean out of its hinges, shattered along with it. It was as if the bloody Hulk had kidnapped her. Sadly, I wasn't a person that liked being left in the dark. I wanted to know what happened, and I willed myself to step forward, into the room.

Stepping over the wooden remains, I looked around the small space, seeing, to my surprise, nothing at all. Maya wasn't there - her blankets had been thrown sideways, but she herself was clearly missing from the scene. Something glimmered in the corner of my eye, and I turned my head. A shard of glass, it seemed. It was a large shard, flickering in the afternoon light. Somehow the thing seemed to shine, being stuck in the floor, sharp points all around. But in reality, it wasn't stuck in the floor. It was as if it had been smashed down with great force, because the wood around the object was cracked and splintered.

A short distance further, on the carpet near her bed, lay a note. No, a page. It had slant, hurried handwriting written on it in straight, even lines. This wasn't Maya's handwriting, I knew. Maya wrote with the elegance of a permanent drunk. It was a feat to even recognize it as handwriting, and not just random scribbles. Once, she had left a note on the table saying she was going to be back by five PM because she was off to the bakery where she worked in the weekends, but it was scribbled so hastily that we could only just decipher "I'll be back." Not very reassuring, let me tell you.

I picked up the note and turned it over in my hands. I started reading it, marvelling at the old material of the paper.

_There was a riot this morning. We had not seen it coming._

_The redcoats have left the area since long, but the patriots clearly needed a senseless fight. We might have to pick sides, but the men in Boston have been nothing but trouble and misery. Patriots they may be, but that does not excuse them their recent behavior. _

_Three people are still missing, and at least six men have been killed. We tend the wounded, but hope to see you back soon, as it is getting harder and harder to deal with this lowlife. _

_You have always been the only one with a patience strong enough to best these men. I, sadly, do not see the use of it and would rather leave. You had better be back soon, or I will retrieve you personally within a forthnight._

_- Jonathan_

For God's sake, couldn't she keep out of trouble for once?

Birds chirped happily into the lazy afternoon it was, with the sun shining high above, warming my back as I turned to lie on my side in my daze. The grass was dry, but felt fresh to the touch. I stretched out and lay on my back, went over a single daisy closeby with my index finger, and grunted. As comfortable as the grass was, it was starting to feel wrong somehow. Reluctantly, I opened my eyes fully and saw blue, vivid skies with fluffy clouds going by above me. This wasn't right... were's my bedroom? Am I dreaming? Or had I just stepped outside of my room? No... that couldn't be. It was fall. The weather had started to get rather cold, and I preferred being holed up inside, in about five blankets and the heater on. Then how was it that the weather suddenly felt like early summer?

Then it dawned on me.

The last memory I had was of standing up to scold my brother for shredding my book... and then...

Nothing.

I tried to make sense of this... dream. It must be. Maybe I knocked myself out, unconciously?

That'd be it.

Before I could even begin to ponder where I had even ended up, I heard soft footsteps on the soil to my left. Surely, this wasn't a nightmare. I turned towards the noise, but I had only just turned my head when someone dragged me behind a low nearby wall, covering my mouth and holding my arm in such a firm grip that I cringed. I hadn't even seen my assailer. Not even a glimpse.  
The man behind me fastened his already-tight grip and whispered viciously into my ear:  
"Do you want to die today?"  
I shook my head as much as I could, with the stranger keeping my head almost immovable with his hand covering my mouth. I tried speaking, but only a muffled sound came from my lips, as I couldn't talk through hands. He noticed and reluctantly moved his hand from my mouth to my other arm, which he gripped as tight as the other. I took a breath and hurriedly talked. "I...I..where am I?" Apparently, this wasn't the best of questions, as he tensed and gripped my jaw. "I've heard that excuse before, woman. If you are with the redcoats, tell me now or find out how painful death can be later on." A frown appeared between my brows as I made my mind go over everything I knew. "R...Redcoats? You mean the English?" I spoke, barely a whisper. He grumbled and answered: "You are quite dim, lady, if you don't even know what a redcoat is." Several heartbeats passed, and I tried to regain my lost confidence. The wheels in my head were churning, never halting, as I decided that this dream must be about the revolution. There was no other way. Maybe I should cut back on the history books.

But then again, this dream felt very real indeed - I wouldn't mind going along with its course.

A soft hush of summer wind blew through the air, and I almost forgot I was in a very unfortunate situation right there. So I cleared my troath and took a deep breath. "I am not with the redcoats." I spoke with renewed spirits and waited. He answered almost immediatly, still tightly gripping my arms behind my back. "How is it then, that you find yourself on its very territory? Do you not care about getting killed whatsoever, girl?"

The manner in which he said girl only fueled my confidence once more.  
"...I have truly no idea of whose territory this is."

Wrong answer, once again.

"As if you wouldn't know." He spoke harshly.

He dragged me to my feet and proceeded in pushing me forwards with a sharp object pressing into the small of my back. I took in the scenery as we made our way towards the dirt path nearby. It swiveled towards a wider dirt path which led to a few rows of houses, neither of them very small. It was almost mesmerizing, looking upon the people that threw quick glances at her, some ashamed as they turned away their faces. They were ever so oddly dressed - Long skirts, buttoned up shirts and the men in loose, linen clothes. How could these women even bear to wear those things every day? Wasn't it scorching outside during summer?  
I looked at my own outfit for that day. No wonder people were staring at me like I was a panda in the amazons - I still wore my shorts (do I have to mention they were short shorts?) which was most likely the reason of the many stares. I must be walking around in my underwear according to them...

The man pressed the blade into my back and nudged me towards the small alley path flanking a large house that loomed over them. It seemed he didn't like crossing open, public roads such as the one before. As soon as I saw no one in sight in the alley any longer, I opened my mouth; "Say, where are you taking me?"

All of a sudden, the man stopped and turned me around. It was the first time I saw him since he decided to lunge at me. He wasn't a tall man, but was rather toned nonetheless. There was, however, something very frightening in the way he moved and brought his face in closer to hers, revealing his dark brown eyes that had been covered in a red hood before.

"I'm bringing you to the templar prisons, where you can reevaluate your choice of sides." He hissed at me, coming in just a tad too close as I was almost urged to push him away.

My jaw tightened and I stared at the agressive templar - as I'm assuming he must be - in front of me. "Turn." He demanded with no sense of pity or remorse in his harsh voice. I turned and as I felt the point of the blade in my back, I stepped forward, towards the Templar prison that awaited me.


End file.
